


Miles Away

by VALandsEnd



Category: Man in an Orange Shirt (TV)
Genre: Closeted Character, Eventual Happy Ending, Guardian Angels, M/M, Post-Canon Fix-It, Regret, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23858644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VALandsEnd/pseuds/VALandsEnd
Summary: At the end of their lives, Michael and Thomas are given one last chance to reunite and make things right.
Relationships: Adam Berryman/Steve, Michael Berryman/Thomas March
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. The Loft

Michael Berryman opened his eyes slowly. The early morning light was beginning to spill through the skylights of the loft, high above the bed. The effect was disorientating — either the old glass was covered by a half-century of soot, or the London fog had yet to burn away. Michael blinked and tried to will himself awake. After years fighting the war on the continent, this had to be the best night sleep he’d enjoyed in a long time.

Against Michael’s wide chest lay the tousled head of Thomas March. Michael glanced down and a slight smile crossed his lips as he remember why he’d slept so well. Thomas sniffled a bit and snuggled in deeper. As Michael lay there quietly, among the tangled mess of sheets and blankets that covered them, he realized that his lover had barely moved since they drifted off, exhausted by the release of a near eternity of pent-up passion.

After a moment, Michael realized something else. Aside from feeling completely rested, an utter feeling of calm resonated through him. It was different, unlike anything he’d felt before. He effused a deep love for the young man laying by his side, but none of the agonizing guilt and shame remained in his gut, flashes of which had often tormented him since their furtive kiss in Italy.

Michael remembered what he’d told Thomas in the afterglow of their lovemaking. Flora Talbot had been completely forgotten until Thomas brought her up. Before her name had passed Michael’s lips, his mind has begun to reel with her plans for them: a job at the bank for him, a cozy flat for her to make their home, a baby as soon as possible. He’d forcibly pushed those thoughts away. Thomas, perhaps sensing his tension, did not pursue the matter.

Now, in the morning light, the only word Michael could think of to describe his feeling was … serenity. He basked in the moment, breaking into a lopsided grin. He tipped his head down and lightly grazed Thomas’ hair with his lips. It was soft and fine, and as Michael drew a deep, happy breath, there was none of the scent of turpentine, cigarette smoke and brandy that Michael had discovered while eagerly exploring Thomas’ body.

It struck him as a bit odd, and as Michael shifted on the mattress, it suddenly occurred to him that if Thomas hadn’t moved all night, his right arm should be stiff and sore. But there was none of that sense either, nor, when he pulled back his arm a little, was there any tingling as if his arm had fallen asleep. Michael realized that there was no heat or stickiness between their bodies after hours of lying entwined and immobile. He sat up with a start. Had something happened to Thomas?

His lover’s head dropped onto the pillow, and Thomas opened his eyes. Michael’s thoughts immediately flashed back to his watch over Thomas’ hospital bed, and he sighed with relief.

“What happened?” Thomas asked groggily. “You’re awake already?”

Michael leaned down to kiss his lips, and Thomas met him halfway. 

“So, I’m not dreaming.” Thomas grinned slyly. “Morning, Captain.”

“March,” Michael replied with a soft chuckle. He watched Thomas’ eyes as a cloud seemed to pass before them. “What is it?”

“I just had a very strange feeling,” Thomas said. “It was as if I’ve we’ve laid in bed before and you said that to me. Or rather, I think it was the other way around.”

“Then you must have slept as well as I did. Did you dream?”

“No, I don’t think so. Did you?”

Michael thought a moment, then replied, “Not that I remember. Too worn out.”

Thomas rolled over to face him. “I hope you’ve recovered!”

“Perhaps after some tea,” Michael laughed, and was about to say something else when his mouth dropped open. “You know, that’s peculiar. What you said — the feeling of having been here, in this moment, before. It seems we’ve had this conversation before.”

“Two souls joined as one.” Thomas watched Michael’s face shift slightly at the comment, then quickly waved away the words hanging in midair. “It’s possible, that is, if you believe my landlord.” 

“He’s quite the character, that one,” Michael replied. As an introduction, Lucien’s arch “I don’t bite” comment had made him a little uneasy, or perhaps it was the common thread they shared, however different their demeanors, that had done it.

“What time is it?” Thomas asked. “He’s coming up this morning to collect the rent.”

Michael swung his long legs out of the bed, affording Thomas a daylight glimpse of his smooth backside, and began rummaging through his clothes. “I don’t see my wristwatch.”

“Not there, on the table?” Thomas pointed.

“It does look like a bomb went off in here.”

“Oh, I’d passed out before the last one, so I wouldn’t know,” Thomas joked.

“You won’t be needing your timepieces here,” a voice came from the stairs. At the sight of Lucien, Thomas sat up in the bed, discreetly covered, while Michael scrambled to wrap himself with an ornate rug bunched up at his feet.

“Take your time,” the older man called wryly, his eyes drifting slowly across Michael’s broad shoulders and almost artistic sweep of hair fanning across his torso. “My, my, the mold was broken when creating you, Mr. Berryman.” 

Michael dropped his eyes shyly to the floor, not seeing Thomas mouth the word “Finally!” to his old confidant. “There’s a robe in the armoire there, Michael,” Thomas said cheerfully. “Uh, Lucien, I have the cheque already made out, and I’ll run it down to you as soon as I can find it.” His dimpled smile faded a bit in embarrassment at the disorder and clear implication of what caused so many paintbrushes, jars and sketchbooks to rain down upon the weathered floorboards.

“Dearie, I’m not here for the rent.”

“Oh? Michael and I were just saying —“

“I’ll get right to it. You two boys have certainly waited long enough to hear this,” Lucien said as Michael pulled the robe tightly around him. “You there. You’d better sit down.”

Michael, settling on the corner of the bed, looked from Lucien to Michael in confusion.

“The thing is, I’m what you would call your guardian angel,” Lucien began.

“You mean, fairy godmother,” Thomas corrected him lightly.

“If you will.” The visitor paused. “About your weekend at the cottage …”

“What? Was my car stolen?” Thomas asked, alarmed.

“No, not that you’ll need it today.”

“But we’ve planned a getaway to the country. And .. how did you know about Michael’s family cottage?”

Michael turned to him. “How did YOU know about the cottage, Thomas?”

“We talked about it last night … didn’t we?” he replied uncertainly.

“No, I was going to suggest a private getaway this morning, one where …” Michael turned serious and pivoted toward Lucien. “Go on, Mister …”

Lucien flicked his hand. “As I’ve said before, Thomas does know to pick them. Think hard, boys. How much do you remember of last night, or rather, how recent does it seem to you?”

“Lucien, please, you’re being overly dramatic, as usual.” Thomas rolled his eyes.

Michael’s deep-set eyes, however, stared meaningfully at the man. “No, let him finish. Go on, please.”

“You two have, um, caused quite a stir around here. You should be together, but —“

“But what?” Thomas asked impatiently.

“Your story is not over,” Lucien finished. “Your lessons are not yet learned.”

The young couple stared back at him, disbelieving.

“To you, it may seem that Michael has miraculously just crossed the Channel after years of you pining away for each other. Your great love affair has only just been given room to ignite, or that is how it seems to you. Darlings, that’s a distant memory.”

Michael’s eyes met Thomas’ with an understood look: Is he daft?

“Your cottage, Michael.” Thomas nodded slowly after a moment of reflection. “It’ feels as if I’ve painted it before. And —“ He gasped softly. “I’ve painted you there, standing in the doorway … in an orange shirt!”

“Not many men can carry off orange,” Lucien sniffed. “Chalk it up to another miracle of creation.”

Michael walked across the room, picked up his battered suitcase and slung it onto the bed. Fumbling for a moment, he pulls out an orange shirt, one he’d bought hastily before shipping out of Italy. “I remember it, too.”

“I think I’d better pour us all some tea, or something stronger,” Thomas said after a long pause.

“I have other places to be, and besides, you wouldn’t like the libations here. They don’t taste the same to newcomers. You have to learn to overcome your reliance on your physical senses and to embrace those of the spirit.”

“Are — are we in heaven?” Michael stammered.

“There are many names for where we are, but sorry, no.” Lucien shrugged. “Call it limbo if you like. Does that suit your traditional religious upbringing, Mr. Berryman?”

“Can I see my — my parents? Are they here?”

“Thankfully, no. Their mission is done. Could’ve done a better job of teaching you to follow your heart, but that’s where an overwhelmingly oppressive society gets you. Some have argued we might have introduced you to it as a test case too early, but no, you are both two brave souls. You survived a world war. Pity you couldn’t have navigated your mortal existence successfully. I had such hope.” Lucien sighed. “A failing, but it is my nature.”

“It’s going to take some time to get used to this,” Thomas said warily.

“There is none. And yet, there is an eternity. Don’t you want to get it over with and move on?”

“Get what over with?” Michael asked.

“Let’s put it this way. Thomas, my friend, how would you describe most of your time spent here in this atelier?”

“Huh. Intense when I’m working, and feeling empty when I’m not,” he admitted. His eyes met Michael’s knowingly. “Loneliness. And fear.”

“What of last night?” Lucien continued.

“Obviously, that was the happiest moment of my life!”

“Yes, yes.” Lucien nodded. “So, that’s why you were brought back here to this place and time. And you, Mr. Berryman? Are your feelings the same?”

“Of course. I mean, our time at the cottage was also …” Michael trailed off as the memories washed over him.

Lucien gave him a dour look. “But it wasn’t perfect out there in the country, was it?”

“Yes, it was,” Michael insisted. “I’ve replayed it in my mind so many times.”

“Aren’t you forgetting Flora? Or as I should say, the fleeting thoughts of your future plans as you prepared dinner, washed dishes and, my fine specimen, let’s not forget, fornicated with dear Thomas?”

“No, not when — you’re quite crude, sir,” Michael rebuffed the question sternly. “That’s enough.”

“Look at him, Michael. Caress his cheek. See how smooth it is?”

The tall man hesitated, then did as he asked. “Thomas, your scars from the battle. They’re gone,” he said, astonished. “And look, the one on your chest where the bullet hit your notebook. It’s gone, too.”

“The one you had there,” Thomas whispered, lightly fingering his cheekbone. “It’s disappeared as well.”

“You officially have a clean slate, boys,” Lucien noted. “The damage that was done is now gone. But you know as well as I do, Michael, that you weren’t entirely truthful with Thomas when he asked you about your future bride that night.”

“No, I — I’m sorry,” Michael said, first to Thomas and then to Lucien. “I thought maybe … As much as I yearned for Thomas, as happy as we were together, I couldn’t see how we could make it work.”

“Well, you’ll have to figure it out this time,” Lucien quipped. “You have to go back and get it right.”

“As in … what? Reincarnation?” Michael asked incredulously. “The church doesn’t follow that —”

“In case you haven’t noticed, my dear boy, this isn’t church. There’s a higher power at work here, with none of the human foibles of your religious teachings. We all need to grow as spirits. That’s why you’re going back. Why most everyone does. Even me.”

“Send me, then. But Thomas hasn’t done anything to deserve that!”

Lucien turned to Thomas. “Is that true?”

“Well,” he said after pondering a moment, “When Michael told me his plans, I could have held my temper better, and tried to see his perspective. Did he even know it was remotely possible to live happily ever after with another man, let alone fall in love with one? That it wasn’t something he could cure or control? And … on the way home, rather than drive in silence, I could have tried harder to explain how we could have made it work, in a more accepting place like Italy, or France. After that, I didn’t have to shut him out of my life entirely. I wasn’t willing to share him, but I have helped him —”

“I needed you, desperately,” Michael choked out, tears filling his eyes.

“Go on, Thomas,” Lucien prodded.

“I … I could have listened better, tried to be more empathetic, to see how much starting a new family meant to Michael after losing his own. I could have told about our little community of close friends, for example, who supported each other and became family in their own way. You would have loved them, Michael. When I finally left the prison, they whisked me away and gave me a party that almost made me forget —” 

“I saw them,” Michael admitted.

Thomas draws a sharp breath. “Really? You were there, Michael? I looked for you! Why … why didn’t you step forward?

Michael let out a shuddering breath. “I told you before. I’m a coward. In a second, I realized then the trap I’d built for myself was permanent.”

“You weren’t alone in that.” Thomas embraced him as Michael breaks into sobs. His eyes flashed as they met Lucien’s. “I suppose Flora’s got some penance to pay, too?”

“She does,” Lucien responded thoughtfully. “In fact, she’ll be with you.”

“As another do-over?” Thomas asked.

“No, she’s still there, only much older.” Lucien looked down and picked at his ascot.

“OK, so if you had our lives so planned out, why did you intervene at the prison and keep me from stepping forward?” Michael interjected.

“Was it I who kept you from stepping forward? You still weren’t ready to fully give your life to him without regret, or you would have run down the street after the cab, arms akimbo,” Lucien answered. “But in case I haven’t made myself clear, when we were there I had no more idea of my role in your earthly story than you did. Souls like me are merely placed as a temporary catalyst. We work on instinct.”

“This is so hard to understand,” Michael sighs. “It goes against everything I believe.”

“Tell me, handsome, what is your last memory before today? Think hard before you speak.”

Michael wiped away a tear. “Um, I was in hospital. Only 60 years old. When I read that Thomas had passed away, I couldn’t endure another second at that bank. My thoughts were only on Thomas and if only I’d been there with him. My life had been a lie, meaningless, never to allow myself to love like that again. I was never the same. I had a breakdown. Flora told people it was my son and his wild antics finally taking their toll, but when the time came, my last thoughts were, “This is what it’s like to die of a broken heart.’ And that no one else would ever, ever say that about me.”

Now Thomas was crying. “And you, my old friend?” Lucien asked sympathetically.

Thomas pulled away from Michael and blinked his eyes. “I was in Cassis. I remember being in a lovely place, surrounded by lovely people.” He hesitated. “Now, I’m not so sure. Maybe it was a hallucination.”

“Flora thought you might have drunk yourself to death in the sunshine,” Lucien remarked.

“How cruel!” Thomas exclaimed, turning to Michael for confirmation. 

“I did hear her say that once,” he acknowledged softly. “It was the last time I ever saw you.”

Thomas’ eyes widened. “I remember that day well. So perfunctory with the pleasantries and the very model of a perfect family. How could you invite me to dinner so casually? I saw your little boy and wished for own little family, with him sitting at the dining table.”

“You know how it was then, Thomas. If I’d divorced Flora, I’d have never been allowed to see Robert again,” Michael implored.

“And for you to act as if we’d had nothing between us? I stood there waiting, waiting for the man I loved to show his face just once more. And, I knew what you’d just done in the department store lavatory. Don’t protest — that loo had quite the reputation, and besides, I’d seen that look in the mirror more times than I’d care to remember, love. If you could have sex with strangers, why deny me the slightest hope of us sharing a life together eventually, possibly after Robert had grown up? That last look, so empty and practiced, drove me to my grave, I swear. I knew I’d lost you forever. I tried, and failed, to find another to fill my days and my bed, but my love for you left a permanent hole like that bullet in my sketchbook. At times the resentment would flare up and make me want to end it all. If I drank too much, it was to chase that misery away.”

Michael buried his face in his hands and sobbed, “How can I make this right?” as much to Lucien as to Thomas.

“Go back, that’s how,” Lucien answered. “Teach Flora the meaning of true love and sacrifice. Learn to love Thomas without reservation or hesitation.”

“I can do that. Oh God, to have a second chance!” Tears ran down Michael’s cheeks.

“Hold on,” Thomas said. “From what I’ve heard about reincarnation, I don’t think we’ll be living the same lives again. Will I even know him?”

“No, it doesn’t work that way,” Lucien said. “You’ll get to be in familiar surroundings, in London, anyway. That’ll help you find each other again. There will be parallels to your past life set in place to help guide you. You won’t remember any of this conversation, but you’ll still be essentially you. For example, your talent as an artist will survive the transition, and Michael will unwittingly be attracted to that.”

“He’s not going to work in a bank again, is he?” Thomas pointed to Michael sharply.

“Hmm,” Lucien pondered. “This is not a punishment, but I still think we’ll give him something that requires far more compassion this time.”

“Oh, will you be going back with us, too?” Thomas asked.

“I have others I need to tend to, actually. Trust me, there will be a kindred spirit to guide the both of you at the right moments. You’ll be loved and supported, Thomas, and if all goes well, you won’t need to look elsewhere until the right moment comes. Just don’t let your pride get the better of you this time. Learn to forgive, and listen. Once you’ve found him, do not let him out of your sight.”

“How long until we meet this time? At school, again, maybe?” Michael asked hopefully.

“I can’t share with you your whole journey. It’s what you make it, but I’m afraid part of this includes a futile quest to recapture the passion you previously found here with Thomas. You’ll still be you, as I’ve said, and in a future society that makes sex available at the push of a button, that could become a problem. Oh, don’t look shocked, you’ll still have a good sense of guilt and shame instilled in you, intensified thanks to Flora. But once you truly realize the error of your ways, and realize that true love between men is possible, you’ll reunite with Thomas again.”

“But I won’t know him,” Michael said dejectedly.

“Well, Mr. Berryman, you can’t expect us to spell it all out for you, can you? Or else you won’t learn anything. That’s the whole point of this. On the other hand, Thomas might see, uh, some resemblance in who you become.” Lucien clasped his hands delightedly. “You’ll be your own grandson!”

“I — I have a grandson?” Michael stood up, again astonished.

“Best not to get your pretty little head too wrapped up in that. But it is often quite amusing for us to see how these twists play out. And as I’ve said, you’ll need to work things out with Flora this go-round.”

“Sounds delightful,” Thomas groused. “Tell me there’s bright light at the end of this tunnel.”

“You’ll be back together again when it’s over, in the time and place that made you happiest. Fulfill your earthly mission, and you’ll have that experience for all eternity. But you do have to go willingly, or it won’t work.”

Michael shook his head. “It’s — It’s not such much that I don’t believe you. I’m afraid that I don’t believe enough in myself, or this grandson I become.”

Lucien thinks a moment. “I’ll make a deal with you. What if there was a way you actually could speak directly to him again, as Michael to Thomas?”

“But how, if we’re both someone else?” Thomas asked.

“Yes, yes, that is an excellent plan, if I may say so myself,” Lucien chuckled to himself. “Boys, the window is closing. Have you made your decision?”

Michael and Thomas looked into each other’s eyes for a long moment. “I think we’d …” Thomas began.

“Better get going,” Michael finished for them both.

“That’s the spirit!” Lucien clapped his hands cajolingly. “I’ll see you again soon.”


	2. The Cottage

Behind the wheel of his convertible, Steve reaches for Adam’s hand, intertwines their fingers and kisses them softly. It is an old and familiar gesture between the couple.

“We’ve made this trip countless times, yet this time seems different,” Adam says, gazing upward at the clear blue sky. On this crisp afternoon, the sun’s warmth is undetectable. “It’s so still and quiet.” 

Steve glances at the trees and grass along the narrow road. Indeed, there’s not a leaf or blade moving, nor the distant roar of an autonomous tractor. He smiles wistfully. “Enjoying the silence. You know, you napped right through that accident cleanup we passed a while back. Someone swerved and flipped their car down an embankment. Gave me chills; it was a classic car like ours. Honestly, people have forgotten how to drive out here in the country. Well, drive PERIOD, since the cars have done it for them for so long.”

A shadow seems to cross Adam’s face. “I — I’m sorry, darling. I was miles away.”

Steve smiles. “That’s a turn of phrase I haven’t heard in a long time. You’re not turning into your grandmother, are you?”

“Not fair,” Adam objects. “I wish I could live to be as old as Flora did and not have a lick of dementia. So much for heredity. But, I remember once asking why she often said that. She said it was something she picked up from Grandpa.”

“Well, I guess we know where his mind was — and with whom,” Steve muses.

“Thomas,” Adam replies. “It still makes me sad, which I don’t need on top of everything else right now. So, what were you rattling on about just then?”

Steve shakes his head. “It was nothing important. I was thinking that we’ll need to rake the leaves again when we get home.”

Adam clears his throat. “God, it’s like I can remember every detail of my childhood — and a lot I’d rather forget about my 20s and 30s — but … what were we doing back in London again? Oh, the doctor. What did she tell you? How long do I really have?”

“We’ve been over this,” Steve says slowly. “You’re not to get agitated, love. I’ll take care of you.” Tears brim at his eyes. “The doctor says we can be together for a long while yet.”

Adam rubs his temples. “If I could only focus! I’m too young to be retired, Steve. I miss my practice. The people in the village. From the day we moved out here permanently, they’ve been so kind.”

“Well, we’re two old fixtures of the community now. Everyone asks about you all the time, Dr. Berryman. And I remember, too, how welcoming they were. I would never have gotten my home restoration business off the ground had it not been for our friends here.”

“Slow down! There’s our driveway!” Adam exclaims.

“I see it,” Steve replies calmly. He steers the car toward the bumpy lane that leads to the cottage. Despite the many improvements made to their home over the years — always a work in progress, Adam would tease him cheerfully — they’d never gotten around to having the driveway paved. The bumps and ruts somehow enhanced their sense of privacy. No one would expect such a charming place at the end of the winding road.

As Steve shuts off the vehicle, they both notice lively music and laughter drifting from the house. “Who’s here?” Adam asks, startled.

“I have no idea,” his husband replies cautiously. 

“Is this a surprise party? Our 30th anniversary isn’t until next year.”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Steve tries to reassure him in a familiar tone.

Adam relaxes at bit. “It’s odd, but I’m not afraid at all. Or confused, at the moment. The only way I can describe it is —”

“Peace,” they finish together. At that moment, they lock eyes, sharing a look of wonder between them.

“It’s about time!” a familiar voice calls from the now open doorway. “Come in, lads! We’ve been waiting for you.”

“I remember that voice,” Adam begins. “But … that can’t be possible. Just my mind playing tricks again.”

“It’s Caspar, darling,” Steve assures him. “I see him, too. But he’s … he’s …”

“Not dead, most assuredly,” says Steve’s former lover, now at the side of the car. He opens Adam’s door for him. “Good to see you boys, finally. Steve, darling, you can close your mouth any time now.”

“I don’t see how …” Steve trails off.

“Then I suppose I have one last intervention to complete, post mission. But you will see. Now you have to admit, my uncovering Thomas’ second painting was a master stroke, even if I had no earthly idea the ripple effects my role would have.”

“Man in an Orange Shirt.” Adam’s eyes open in wonder. “Caspar, how can this be happening?”

“You’re both looking well, my friends.” Caspar casts his eyes heavenward. “I do love this job. Everyone’s 30 again. I don’t think either of you were truly aware how beautiful you were.”

“If this is a dream —” Adam begins.

“Then I’m having it, too,” Steve says while walking around the front of the car. “You suddenly look like the 34-year-old who drove out here to help with the reno — Oh,” he exclaims, stopping suddenly. “Oh.” He reaches down, and when he stands up again, Adam sees him holding the cat that brought them together.

“Myra,” he says in wonder, walking over to stroke the cat’s thick fur. She’s clearly younger and healthier than when Steve brought her to the veterinary clinic where they first met.

“She’s a bit of a pill, but we couldn’t exclude her,” Caspar laughs. “Myra played a vital role in your story. She’s why you met in the first place.”

“What about the rest of our pets?” Adam asks.

“Oh, they’re all inside. Let’s go. The party is well underway. You two, always fashionably late.”

“All of them?” Steve mouths softly to Adam, thinking of the dozens of abandoned pets and lost causes Adam brought to the cottage.

“You’ll make it work,” Caspar says over his shoulder as he leads them up the flagstone path.

“Yes, and do come in quickly. You’ll let all the little animals out,” a man’s familiar voice says from the doorway.

Steve and Adam look up toward him. “Lucien?”

“You remembered,” the older man says warmly.

Steve tightens his hand around Adam’s. “I don’t know how. There’s a distant memory I can’t quite fathom.”

“It’ll come to you, sweetie,” Lucien says, cupping Steve’s face with his cheek. “Hmm. That was quite a change in appearance they worked out. Sometimes our work still amazes me. But you,” he adds, looking at Adam. “I can see your grandfather in there. Something about the eyes. Windows to the soul and all that.”

“I wish I’d known him,” Adam says. “There’s so much he could have told me. Helped me.”

Lucien and Caspar both burst out laughing.

“Why is that funny?” Adam asks.

Caspar rests his hand on Lucien’s shoulder. “Go ahead. I’m feeling generous today.”

“Always the landlord, watchdog, purveyor of shade to the gentry,” Lucien quips. “Does that ring a bell, dear boy?”

Adam’s eyes widen. “We met in Soho after the war … I thought I had the wrong address.”

“Bingo. I didn’t bite then, and I don’t bite now. But it seems I’m always spelling things out to you. Here goes: You ARE your grandfather.”

“What?!” Steve exclaims, putting his arm around his husband, who is visibly shaken. “Does that mean I’m —“

“Yes, Thomas dear. Remember, you boys had to go back and get it right to move on to this level. Both of you fully agreed to it. A second chance. And if you —”

“Do pardon me, I couldn’t bear to wait another moment,” Mrs. March interrupts, peering from the doorway.

“M-Mother?” Steve reacts, surprised to hear the word come from his own mouth. “Mother! He steps up to embrace her. “It’s been so long!” They share a quiet moment as she stares meaningfully at his face.

“I’ve been waiting to tell you, Thomas. When I heard about your finished portrait of Michael being found at last, I wept with joy,” she says. “I’m so glad you gave it to the museum in Cassis, where your love story could be told properly,” she says through tears. “I loved having Michael’s letter included on the placard describing the artwork. What a wonderful testament to all to see for the love you two shared. I … I tried my best to bring you back together with him, Thomas darling, but I failed.”

“No, you didn’t fail. I can scarcely believe it, but we’re together now. I love you,” Steve beams, kissing her cheek. “And Father?”

She sighs. “It’s the first time the old ham has had captive audience in ages. He’s inside, regaling them with Ibsen or some such.”

Steve turns to look at Caspar. “I thought you said everyone looked 30 again.”

His mother takes his arm. “I didn’t want to give you too much of a start, son. Is it all … too much for you to bear?” she asks sensitively.

“I can’t … I don’t …” Steve stammers, searching for words. “How do I appear to you?”

“Like the little boy I’ve always loved.”

“Are we dead?” Adam asks Lucien. “Never mind answering, obviously we are.”

“On the contrary. You’re about to come alive in ways you never imagined. Congratulations, chaps. Mission accomplished.”

“So … I’m Michael, as well as Adam. And he’s …” Adam points to Steve.

“Steve and Thomas are one and the same.”

“Mind blown.”

“Your two sets of memories will integrate soon,” Lucien replies matter-of-factly.

“Good God, I was in World War II!” Adam realizes.

“I’m nobody’s god, young man. Now hurry up, you’ve got a welcome-home party to attend.”

Mrs. March steps aside as the two brightly outfitted gentlemen escort Steve and Adam through the door. They see a large dining table laid out for the crowd milling about. The inside of the cottage seems impossibly huge compared to the exterior. All heads turn at their appearance, and the room falls silent.

A young, tall, dark-haired man awkwardly steps forward. “Hello,” he says, extending his hand to Adam.

“Robert?!” Adam pulls him into a tight embrace. “Oh, my. I have so much to say to you. I’m sorry. I tried to be a good father, I really did —”

“Yeah, everybody says that,” Bob interrupts. “The most important thing is, you came back for me that night. I can forgive you being sometimes ‘distant’ as a father. But when it came my turn, I was absent as YOUR father. I’d say I got the better end of the deal,” he adds sincerely.

While they converse, Steve’s eyes scan the gathering and finds his parents waving cheerfully. He crosses the room to them, and an older man — Thomas’ father — dramatically spreads his arms widely to wrap around all three.

“I don’t know what to call you,” Adam continues. “Son … or Dad?”

“Let’s start with Bob” is his happy reply.

“You cut your hair.”

“My hippie days are long over. But appearances can change here in a flash. Souls appear to us as we most fondly remember them. Hence my military cut.”

“Who do I appear to be to you? Adam or Michael?”

“You look like Michael. That’s how I spent most of my life seeing you, so …” Bob shrugs.

“Are my parents — Michael’s parents — here as well?”

“Yes, they’re milling about somewhere. They’re concerned about overwhelming you even more than you already are. They regret the shock of you losing them both together in the air raid, but it was their choice. Just like it was mine, to die in that crash.”

“How can that be?” Michael’s face is aghast.

“Um, there’s got to be a better guide than me to fill you in on all this. I only understand is that everyone chooses their mission on earth, and when they’re done, most don’t hang around there very long.”

Michael, suddenly realizing he is 5 inches taller, looks over Bob’s shoulder at all the familiar faces, enough to fill two lifetimes, then steps back again. “I have to ask: Is your mother here?”

“Try the back. Last I saw, she and her friends had started a bridge game at the kitchen table. See you later.”

He works his way through the crowd, stopping frequently for hugs and cheers for “Adam!” as well as “Michael!” It’s hard to pull away. Finally, he turns the corner and Flora is sitting at the table, looking young and radiant.

“Flora,” her sister Daphne, standing at her side, softly catches her attention. At the sight of her son, Flora puts her hand to her heart but says nothing.

“I’ll play for you,” Daphne says, nudging her gently from the chair. The other three women continue chattering as Flora slowly crosses the room.

Michael and Flora stand facing each other, forever the beautiful couple, at least from appearances. A long moment passes before Flora finally speaks.

“I never was much of a hugger,” she says.

Michael’s mind races with memories of his wife intermixed with those of his grandmother. It’s almost too much to bear. Love for the grandmother who raised him. Affection for the sisterly spouse who’d stood by him for better or for worse. Sadness at disappointing both of them. Pain at the thought of all he’d harmed, and their actions that had harmed him.

“Take your time. You have 130 years of combined history to sort out. Speaking as a woman who lived into her 90s, it’s lot to process,” Flora says, searching Michael’s face for hidden answers. She’d been able to read him for a long time, but now something in him had changed. Flora also knew him as her grandson as well as anybody, but there was so much in him she’d deliberately avoided. One round of dealing with a tormented soul had exhausted her; acknowledging a second one would have driven her to an early grave like her husband.

“I, um, speaking as Adam, I want to say how sorry I am for not being with you at the end.”

“It was time you moved out. And, I was an old, old woman. I chose my time to go, and to be honest, I really wanted to be alone. Not everyone gets to die in her sleep, in her own bed.”

“I want you to know I married Steve, and in the process, I now see, I married Thomas, too,” he tells her.

“I do know. I was dead, and if you’d even still been Michael, you were free to marry anyone you like,” Flora replies with an arched brow. “Anyway … I was allowed to peek in on the service. Very nice. Not a dry eye. More than I can say for ours. And an actual church wedding, at that.”

“Who would have thought?” Michael muses.

“Certainly not me, but I would have loved to have been sitting on the front pew.”

“There were flowers there in your memory. White roses.”

Flora’s stony facade melts as the mental image overwhelms her. “How beautiful. Somehow, you still knew those were a favorite, from when Robert was born,” she marvels.

“Love has a way of crossing time as well as distance, doesn’t it,” Michael realizes. “In my mind, I’m beginning to see so many miracles lining up in my life.”

“Lives,” she corrects him, breaking into a smile.

“Yes,” he exhales, less shakily than before. “Lives. I have to ask, why did you keep my letter to Thomas and the mementos I’d secreted away?”

“Oh, I was tired of being angry and simply didn’t want to deal with another painful set of memories. After many years, I simply forgot about the pastels box. I know the reason now, though. Why I gave the letter to you as Adam.”

Michael’s eyes redden with tears.

“It was my mission, don’t you see? My life’s mission. Once I fulfilled it, I could cross over,” she says.

“You brought Steve and me back together with that letter.”

“And with it, you and Thomas as well. And I also know it brought you a huge measure of forgiveness from Steve. Perhaps the part of him that is now Thomas can find some for me, too. And you?” she adds hopefully. “Can you forgive me?”

“Yes, Flora. Yes, of course you have my forgiveness. We were both young and naive when we got married, and you had every reason to expect me to be faithful as a husband. So likewise, I beg yours.”

“Yes,” she replies truthfully. “I owe you both that, Michael. Adam.”

Michael cocks an eyebrow. “How do people in the afterlife get beyond having these double names? It could drive a man insane.”

“Many do, I hear. Besides, in this spiritual plane, we’re not known so much by our names, but for how we are loved. Talking is just for reminiscing.” Flora pauses. “I only have one other request.”

“What is it?” Michael asks cautiously.

“Thomas’ painting of the cottage. I’d like to see it again before I go. Perhaps with a fresh perspective, I could learn to appreciate it …”

He smiles. “It used to hang in Steve’s and my bedroom, but I don’t know anything for sure now. Would you like a tour?” Michael extends his arm, and Flora gratefully allows him to escort her upstairs. 

“I just don’t want to hear any details!” she can be heard saying by the assembled family and friends. They pause for only a second, think the better of reacting, and continue their joyful reunion. 

Of all of them, only Lucien and Caspar glimpse Thomas scurrying to follow up Michael and Flora up the staircase. “Cheers, darling,” Caspar says, as they clink their champagne flutes.

“I never was one for landscapes,” Flora is saying as Thomas walks into the bedroom. She and Michael are unaware of his presence, and he is surprised to see the old iron bed that occupied the room in the 1940s.

“I never painted many portraits,” Thomas announces.

“Oh! Thomas,” Flora remarks brightly. “Whatever did happen to the one you did of Michael?”

“Adam donated it to the little March museum in Cassis. They were thrilled that it actually existed, having acquired the rough study long ago.”

“Well, I’m glad we all discovered it in the nick of time,” she chuckles, with a flash of Adam’s grandmother. “What were you thinking, hiding it behind this one of the cottage?”

Thomas’ eyes meet Michael’s. “I think that’s something my husband and I need to discuss first.”

“I wouldn’t know, it’s a gay thing. Is that right?” Flora muses. “Don’t answer that. All you need to know is that seeing it jogged my memory about the letter that brought the two of you together again.”

“Thank you for not throwing it out. You well could have,” Thomas says, standing beside Michael and wrapping an arm around his waist.

“I’m glad I didn’t! There wouldn’t have been a party like this.” She smiles at the happy couple. “Speaking of which, people will talk. It’s time I left you alone, don’t you think?”

“Thank you, Flora,” Thomas says gratefully as she goes out.

“That was big of you,” Michael remarks.

“There’s time to talk through all this. An eternity, I guess, now,” Thomas says, closing the door. “To see you again as Michael — my god, the memories. Do you feel them washing over you?”

“Yes, a million little boxes popping open with a long-held secret in each one. But this time, there’s none of the pain,” he muses. “Um, going back to what you did with the hidden painting, that was brilliant.”

Thomas steps closer. “It was your letter that sealed the deal. You know, you could’ve taken up poetry for a living. ‘The love I feel for you runs through me like grain through wood.’ How could anyone refuse you?”

“March, what are you doing?” Michael laughs softly as Thomas wraps his arms around his neck.

“After what we’ve been through, captain, I believe history can repeat itself,” he coos. “When’s the last time you felt this young?”

“… Bedroomy things?” Michael teases. “Or do you have other plans for the night?”

“Bugger all,” Thomas laughs knowingly, until his husband’s urgent kiss silences him. Michael pushes him onto the bed. “Wait,” he implores breathlessly as Michael pauses to gaze adoringly down at him. “Can we even do this in the afterlife?”

“I’m willing to try. How about you?” Michael says, stroking his face tenderly. “They’d better not call this heaven if we can’t.”

“It is heaven, isn’t it? Being back in this room, as Michael and Thomas again? And to know this time that you really do love me …” Thomas rises as they join in another fervent embrace, then flips Michael over onto his back and begins to unbutton his shirt. “Hmm … I’m beginning to have a very strong sensation that it’s even better here.”

“What about the party downstairs?” Michael asks with mock innocence while hurrying to remove their clothing.

“We’ve been waiting for this for over 100 years. I think they’ll forgive us,” Thomas chuckles as he leans down for another embrace. “If not, this time it’s their problem.”

**Author's Note:**

> Many years ago, I had a very vivid dream in which my older sister and I were in a convertible. She was driving us down a familiar road in the country. I remember the sun being very bright but not feeling its warmth. It was completely quiet, without the sound of the engine or the wind whistling by. My only sensation was feeling was of utter peace. We arrived at a colonial-era farmhouse that I'd never seen before. It was filled with friends and relatives. A big party spread had been laid out on a long table, and at the end of it sat my grandmother, looking radiant and chatting with her friends. She had not long passed away. I realized at that moment that I must be dreaming. I turned to my sister and asked, "Who's the party for?" She smiled and said, "It's for you." At that point I woke up, but I still had that unique sensation of peace for a short while. Even today, thinking back on that dream comforts me.
> 
> Just two weeks ago, I discovered "Man in an Orange Shirt," and random thoughts of it have drifted back into my mind constantly. In reading about the production, I learned more about how it was intended to represent the history of gay people over the last century. I understood that for it to be realistic and make its point, a happy ending wasn't possible for Michael and Thomas, but I couldn't help but fantasize about how they could finally be together while respecting canon. Hence this story, in which I draw on that dream from many years ago. It helped me put some distance between myself and these characters who haunted me so much.


End file.
